A concert came and went.
As did a few guests....
And a few Mondays.
Julian feels quite at home with the 'whenever whenever whenever' interpretation of 'sûr sûr sûr', as it how he would ideally like to live, whereas I have French insults - ranging from 'Putain!' through 'Honteux' right down to the very polite 'Pas du tout correcte' - coursing through my veins. I spend most of the day pulling my right forearm back from the telephone in order to stop myself spurting them at the errant builder.
Monsieur Reymond did 'sûrely' not show up on Monday-the-third. However, as I returned from swimming on Tuesday I saw a jcb, and a van with maçonnerie written on it and, well, blimey, I almost crashed the mini, I could hardly believe my eyes. He was actually there. He ploughed up the area in front of the house for 5 hours, and arranged to be there the next day at 14.00 to meet with the iron worker and continue the job...
...and we haven't seen him since. On Wedensday we leave for Skye for two weeks and hand the house over to friends. I hope it does not look like this.
Anyway the cats are having a blast rolling around in their new sandy playground.
For my part, since the terrace debacle, I have been having nightmares about turning up for tour buses and rehearsals minutes late.
Julian is a different animal. He does what he likes/what must be done when he is moved to do so. He can work harder than I've ever worked in my life in one day and yet, now the days are long, he is totally cool about watching the Tour de France with a few beers in the afternoons before he starts to paint dangerously near sundown. ('Afternoon telly and alcohol...aaargh! Armchair sport...eeek' says my internal task master) Within his rhythm there is a certain organic discipline (hello, a painting a day for how many days?), even if that discipline can be a little 'dernière minute'.
"Something inside you has to move before you move your arm which moves your bow" said my teacher wisely. It is a good lesson. I have learned it on the cello. I am still trying to learn it in life. However, I still believe there are certain things which move me first. For example, I do not wait for something inside me to move before I go swimming. I simply know that if I do not show up at 10 on the dot the pool will bulge with bombing boys and I won't exercise and I feel crap when I don't exercise and if I don't exercise for a day I probably won't for a month, then not for a year and then I will be fat and die prematurely. That's just how it is. So when, arriving plein de hangover grog, at the Piscine Municipale, I dive in to the pool and feel the cool water close around me like a mercury envelope; follow the contours of me like silken hands; flow around my movements like the tenderest lover.... only then do I know why I got in the car to get there.
And yet, though I know I get a lot done, I am missing out on something. I do not follow crazy impulses and take risks that lead to life changes without encouragement and prompting (luckily I am married to someone who encourages and prompts me). I follow and I commit to making what follows a thing of beauty. Sometimes I think I follow everything but my heart, though I can often find my heart along the way.
The social worker said that I am fixed because I come from a broken home and Julian is flexible because he came from a secure one. I am sure there is some truth in it.
Monsieur Reymond obviously came from a very very happy large clan.
PS. Someone was talking on the radio today about Shiva, and playing Indian devotional music. The interviewer asked:
'Do you really think that man will become a better man listening to this music?'
-to which the Indian composer replied:
'No, he is already better. He will just remember his heart. Sometimes we forget it'.
Bach does that for me, I thought.